Lost in Time
by I Took the One Less Travelled
Summary: When Harry and Ginny get separated from the others in the Department of Mysteries, they end up in the room with the broken Time Turners- which throw them back to the seventeenth century, along with a murderous Dolohov out for revenge. H/G.
1. Prologue

Lost in Time

Prologue

**August 15****th****, 1992- The Burrow**

Twelve year old Harry Potter ducked into the living room of the Weasleys' house, avoiding Ginny because of her annoying and obvious crush on him, and avoiding Ron because he was complaining about the twins. This room was rarely used by the Weasleys, with a formal table, nicer couches than the other room, and nicely framed wizarding photographs on tables. Everything looked a little bit old-fashioned and dusty in a way that seemed almost permanent, a common quality in antiques.

Something about a frame in the corner caught his eye—hidden behind several things on the cluttered-but-tidy table. It looked very old. He reached behind the other photographs and picked it up. It looked like his father, or a grown up version of himself. He was sitting with a woman who, though red haired, didn't look like his mother. If anything, the woman looked like what he imagined an older version of Ginny would look like—flame red hair and brown eyes, a soft, gently freckled face. She wore a tightly laced corset gown, with layers of crinoline. The man that looked like him stood behind her sitting form, one hand on her shoulder. He was looking fondly at her, an expression of deep love in his eyes. He wore an old fashioned waist-coat and trousers. Both moved around a little, but the figures seemed mostly content where they were.

"Ah, Harry. There you are." Mrs. Weasley was behind him, bustling into the room with her wand in hand. "Ron is looking for you. Oh, you've found that portrait. Our ancestors. One of Arthur's many times great aunts, and her husband, and one of your uncles. Hadrian Potter and Genevieve Weasley. She was actually the last female born into the Weasley line. Until Ginny. That was the seventeenth century, I believe. They didn't have children. Disappeared without a trace about a year after they married."

"Oh," Harry said, not knowing what else to say.

"We named Ginny after her, actually. Or similarly, anyway. Ginevra, instead of Genevieve."

Harry still didn't know what to say. Mrs. Weasley plucked the portrait from his hands and gently set it back on the table before shooing him out of the room. "I doubt that you're interested in a seventeenth century love story," she said cheerfully. "Being a teenage boy and all. Run along and play Quidditch with Ron and the twins, they said they needed another player."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry finally said, following her out of the room.

Harry soon forgot entirely about Hadrian and Genevieve, instead preferring to do what teenage boys did. Sure, he was interested in his family, but they were so far back that they were barely related to him anyway. In fact, the girl who looked like Ginny wasn't related to him at all. And Hadrian was just an ancestor lost in time, and one that had never even had children.

**May 17****th****, 1996- Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic**

Harry split off from Neville, heading back into the time room. He could have sworn that he saw Ginny back there. And she was—she had come in from another angle, a different door. She was alone.

"Gin," he said panting. "Where's Luna?"

"I lost her. I thought she was with me, but." Ginny cut off and eyed the time turners. "Harry, what's happening?" The dust that had come out of the broken time turners was flying up into the air. Dolohov, his head still stuck in a cycle of baby to adult, choked on the dust completely and passed out, and in enveloped Harry and Ginny.

"Should we run?" Harry asked doubtfully, unsure what was happening.

"Probably," Ginny agreed apprehensively, turning to the door. But they were too late. The sand swept around them in a never-ending wind, catching Dolohov's unconscious form as well. They were both lifted off the ground in the wind. Harry reached for Ginny a moment too late, and they were pulled away from each other into the howling abyss.


	2. Genevieve Weasley

**May 18****th****, 1653- Weasley Manor, Wales**

Ginny Weasley groaned aloud and rolled over, got her hands underneath her body and pushed upwards. It was dark—very dark. The ground underneath her was hard packed dirt and grass. She dug her fingers into that dirt.

"Harry?" She called, glancing around. She was outside, and once her eyes had adjusted it didn't seem as dark. She was alone in a field behind a massive mansion. The hill rose up with perfectly green grass, a sweeping willow tree and a verandah behind the house.

Finally deciding that she could look for Harry after she had worked out what had happened to her, she got to her feet, stumbled a moment, and then made her way up to the mansion, shoving her wand up her sleeve in case these people were muggles. After all, if this was a wizarding manor house, she wouldn't have gotten through the wards.

She knocked on the door politely, hoping that it wasn't _too_ late at night but really having no way of telling. Her theory about muggles was shot to hell when a house elf answered the door. It stared at her for a moment.

"Blinky does not recognize the girlie, but the girlie is a mistress," the elf managed, still batting huge eyes.

"Can I speak to your master?" she blurted, hoping that she didn't sound too rude.

"Master is this way," the elf managed, opening the door further and letting her inside. "If the miss with the strange clothing with follow Blinky, Blinky will take you to Master Septimus and Mistress Persephone."

Ginny ignored the comments, unsure what to make of the elf—if she had somehow been transported somewhere where it was unusual to wear muggle clothes, then perhaps her jeans and t-shirt, with an over robe that she had been wearing when they had gone to rescue Sirius would seem unusual to it.

"Master," the elf said, leading her into a sitting room where a man in about his late forties or early fifties, probably about the same age as her father, sat with a younger woman. The woman had dark hair pulled into an elaborate updo, braids and ties around her head. The man—his hair was a bright, Weasley red, the same colour as Ginny's own.

"Good heavens," the woman said, rising to her feet. She was dressed in a _very _old fashioned gown, even for the wizarding world. "What on earth are you _wearing_, child? Come in, sit. My lord, I seem to recall that you told me that the Weasleys never had daughters. In fact, you said that any female relatives that you possessed were by marriage."

"I don't recall," the man said, also rising. He was dressed in a waistcoat and trousers, with his moderately long hair pulled into a tie at the base of his neck. "Any female relatives! But for her to get through the wards she has to be related to me—a Weasley by birth. Perhaps she is a child of my brother's union? An illegitimate. Girl," he addressed her briskly, but not disrespectfully. "What is your name? And where do you hail from?"

"Ginny—Ginevra Weasley, Sir," Ginny answered, still unclear what was going on or where she could possibly be. But this man was clearly a Weasley.

"And your parents?"

"Arthur and Molly Weasley," Ginny answered. "My mother used to be a Prewitt."

"Arthur—I know of no relative of mine named Arthur, but I sense no untruth from your lips, either." His eyes locked on hers. Ginny felt a strange probing sensation, but did not react, sure that it was her imagination.

"Persephone," the man gasped, tearing his gaze from hers. "She's from the future."

"What?" the soft spoken woman asked, at the same time as Ginny shrieked the word.

"It's all here, in her head. The year 1996. She will be born in the year of our lord, 1981."

"What—what year is it now?" Ginny asked, voice trembling. She refused to allow it to break.

"You have landed in the year of our lord, 1653," the man answered. "This is Weasley Manor. I am Septimus Weasley, the head of the family, and this is my wife, formerly Persephone Bones."

"Merlin," was all that Ginny could say.

"I've no idea how to send you back," the man, Septimus—hey, wasn't her grandfather named Septimus?—said. "I'd never even considered that it was possible. You shall have to stay here, for the time being."

"And—Harry? The person that was with me when I got sent here," she explained at his questioning glance. "We got separated. I don't know what happened to him."

"May I?"

Ginny nodded, unsure of what she was agreeing to. He grasped her chin in his hand, eyes on hers again. The probing sensation from before came back, as if someone was rummaging around in her brain. Maybe that was what he was doing? If it was, it was an obscure branch of magic—she had never even heard of it.

"He is a Potter?"

"Yes," Ginny agreed.

"Then he has probably done as you have—landed in the place where his closest blood relatives remain. I am sure that he has found Potter Manor, none the worse for wear. We shall have to check. But first, to come up with an identity for you. You are clearly a Weasley, with that hair. But your manners are atrocious, your clothing improper. And Weasleys do not have female children."

"She's yours," the woman said, speaking up again.

"Persephone?"

"If you take her in, people will simply assume that she is to you as you assumed that she was to John. She is a product of one of your affairs when you were younger. Her mother has died, and you are all that she has left. And as a daughter of the Weasley family, you thought that it was time that she was introduced to polite society."

"Of course. It's perfect," the man agreed. "But she needs a name. And some etiquette lessons. Fast."

"What's wrong with my name?" Ginny wanted to know. "And my manners—what's wrong with my manners?"

"Women do not talk back to men in this time period, Ginevra. You keep your eyes to the ground and speak only when spoken to. You are on your fifteenth summer?"

"I'm almost fifteen," Ginny answered, trying to do as he had said, with keeping her head down and avoiding eye contact.

"You shall be introduced this season, then. Starting in September. We only have three months to teach you. As for your name, well it is simply unusual. It will draw attention to you, and unless we want your true origins to be discovered, you must appear to be entirely unremarkable—a marriageable female entering her first social season. It even makes sense that I would be taking you under my wing right now, with your age."

"Oh," Ginny answered, trying for demure.

"She's hopeless," he observed, shaking his head. "Her name, however—something similar enough to hers that she can easily learn to answer to it. Guinevere, perhaps? As a tribute to her father, Arthur. We do not want you to forget where you came from," he added fondly. Ginny was grateful, but didn't like the name.

"No, I don't think that I could be Guinevere," Ginny answered. "What about Genevieve?" The name had simply popped into her head, but she liked it. She _felt_ like a Genevieve. Septimus and Persephone were nodding along.

"Yes, Genevieve. Genevieve will do quite nicely, I think," Septimus said. "But you must do your part. I know that it will be difficult, but you must begin to think of yourself as Genevieve. We will try everything that we can to send you home, but I doubt that we will be able to."

"I-I understand," Ginny—Genevieve. She had to think of herself in terms of Genevieve now—said shakily. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville. Michael, who she had been intending to dump soon anyway, but was still her boyfriend. Her parents, her brothers. Harry was the only one that she might ever see again, and even that wasn't a sure thing. Maybe he had landed in a different time period all together.

"It hurts, and you will miss them," Septimus said understandingly. "But you _must_, child. Imagine, if the Gaunts, or the Lestranges discovered where you were from? They would try to take advantage of your knowledge. From what little I saw, the use of magic has changed drastically in the passing of nearly four hundred years. We do not have structured spells. Magic is much more difficult to master. Your spells may help you, and they may hinder you. But you must not use them in front of others."

"Of course," Ginny answered. "But my name—can Ginny not still be short for Genevieve?"

"That would be easier, of course," Septimus said. "And you were raised by a common woman. That will be your cover story. If you have been known as Ginny all of your life, of course I cannot be so cruel as to try to take that from you, when you have so abruptly lost your mother to the world. But you must introduce yourself as Genevieve. Only those that you become closest with may refer to you by your given name at all, let alone by a shortened form of it."

"Thank you," Ginny answered, trying to incline her head graciously. Her mind raced as she tried to recall everything that she knew about mannerisms in the middle ages among the upper classes. This was where it would have been beneficial for her parents to have taught her about the family traditions, but they had long since stopped following most of them. But even in families like Neville's, where they hadn't followed the old traditions, his grandmother had still taught him about them. Though she had been grateful as a child not to have to sit through hours of lessons on old and useless traditions, now she wished that they had.

"You'll get there," Septimus said, sounding amused. "Blinky!"

"Yes, Master?" The elf popped into existence next to them.

"Blinky, meet your new Mistress, Genevieve. You are to follow her commands as you follow Cadmus'. She is my daughter. She will be living here now."

"Yes, Master," the elf said.

"Show Genevieve to one of the suites in the east wing, one that is properly fit for a lady. We shall introduce you to our son, your older brother Cadmus tomorrow. He is twenty," he added to Ginny. "And we shall begin on your lessons then, as well as bring a tailor in to help you with your wardrobe. We are operating under a time limit here."

Shell shocked, Ginny nodded and got to her feet. "I—thank you. I've no idea how to proceed. How would I tell you goodnight?"

Septimus smirked slightly. "Perhaps you will become presentable after all. We shall skip that tonight—as your father and the head of your family, you would offer me a slight curtsy and back up three steps before turning to leave. The words goodnight would suffice. Since you have no skirt, you cannot do that."

"Of course," Ginny answered. "Goodnight, then."

"Good night, Genevieve."

"Oh," she said, poking her head back inside, and wincing when she realized how rude she was probably being. "What about Hogwarts? Do girls not go to school?"

"Hogwarts is a college, Genevieve," he answered bemusedly. "Women _do_ often attend, though for shorter periods than men. It benefits them to learn magic. But you will attend Hogwarts when you are older. Magical basics, as well as other lessons are taught through private home study."

"Oh. Thank you." He nodded at her, and she followed the elf out of the room. The manor was ornately decorated. Ginny had always known that the Weasleys had, once upon a time, been as wealthy and prestigious as the Malfoys, Potters, Longbottoms or any other high up pureblood family, but their wealth had dwindled away, due to bad luck and a turn of gambling debts, long before even her father's grandfather had been born. The Weasleys hadn't always been doing as poorly as they had been in her time, but putting seven children through Hogwarts wreaked heck on a single ministry salary.

The elf let her into a sitting room with rosewood upholstery and heavy mahogany furniture. There was a single door off of the sitting room that the elf stated led to her bedchamber, with more separate doors, one leading to a bathing chamber and the other to a closet that was currently empty.

It popped out again, and came back with a dressing gown that belonged to "Mistress Persephone," and told her to settle down for the night. Suddenly, that seemed like an excellent idea. She was totally exhausted, and a part of her harboured the hope that she would wake up tomorrow in the hospital wing after their adventure, all of this having been a weird, Department of Mysteries induced dream.

She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she didn't dream.

The next morning, Ginny woke up to sun coming into the room from a strange angle—she was used to not being able to see it from her dormitory, since she had the bed furthest from the windows, and it came in from her right when she was at home. But here, the windows were widespread above her head, and the light cast down almost directly on her sleeping form.

"Is Mistress Genevieve awake yet?"

"Oh, Blinky," Ginny said, sitting up in the bed. "Yes, I'm awake."

"Blinky has been told to get Mistress Persephone. Please stay here, Mistress Genevieve. Blinky will be right back."

Ginny nodded and collapsed back onto her pillows; suddenly exhausted again. She was glad that she had landed here—she didn't know what she would have done without these relatives of hers. Probably stumbled around in confusion and gotten herself gang raped and killed—from what she understood about this time period, this was no place for a woman on her own.

"Genevieve, dear, are you awake?"

"Yes," she called apprehensively, pulling the covers up to her chest and looking over them. Persephone Weasley was young, to have a twenty year old son. Probably not even forty herself—but people married really young in this time period, didn't they?

"Oh, Merlin," Ginny muttered, sliding out of the bed to meet her. They might want to marry her off. In fact, if they were adopting her, they probably _would_ want to marry her off. She could bear children. That was all that they were waiting for, right?

"You can call me Persephone, dear," the woman said, coming right in with a pile of fabric in her arms. "This probably won't fit you, but a few nips and tucks here and there should make it passable. Septimus has floo called the tailor—he's coming in a couple of hours. But your clothes will take a few days to be finished, and you need something to wear until then. Septimus and I have considered getting you a governess, but we will need to teach you the basics ourselves, otherwise a governess will be very suspicious about how you got to be fourteen years old, and you don't know anything about manners."

Ginny stared at it, overwhelmed. "How do I even put this on?" Ginny asked. "And how many dresses is this?"

"Just one, dear. The slip layer, petticoat, crinoline, overcoat, undergarments, corset, lower skirt and outer fabric."

"Oh my God." She simply stared as Persephone placed the fabric down on the bed in front of her and picked a white, stiff thing out of the mixture.

"Never take the lord's name in vain, child," Persephone scolded. "These are undergarments—put them on." She stood and stared as Ginny, feeling self conscious, stripped down to her bra and underwear.

"What on _earth_ are those?"

"Undergarments," Ginny said wryly, mentally saying goodbye to comfort and sliding her panties down her legs and unclasping her bra.

"How strange," Persephone said. She took the little white short—things that Persephone offered and pulled them on, grimacing, and followed with the layer of fabric that covered her torso. Persephone looped the corset around her figure on top of it and pulled the laces in the back, nearly pulling Ginny over in the process. She led Ginny to the side of the bed and directed her to hold on to the bedpost.

Ginny gasped as Persephone pulled the corset tight. It didn't restrict her breathing, or anything, but it certainly wasn't what a person would call comfortable—every breath that she took was such an effort that it threatened to send her breasts heaving out of the top of the corset. And she _certainly_ wouldn't be able to run in this. It was a good thing that she had left Voldemort far behind her—perhaps the only good thing about this mess.

By the time Persephone finished layering crinoline, slips and petticoats, Ginny felt like she weighed three times her original weight. Persephone finished it off by sliding an open layer of white and green accented silk overtop and fastened it with the button over her ribcage. Then she spun Ginny to the mirror.

"Oh," Ginny managed, staring at herself. Though the dress was a huge pain, she couldn't deny what it did for her figure. The corset forced it into a perfect, hourglass shape. Her breasts sat in the perfect balance, skirts falling. The lower petticoat, which showed through the over layer, was a dull, forest green, while the upper layer was white and green, decorated with vines along the pattern. Her hair was still tumbling down her shoulders, but Persephone was pushing her down into a chair and scraping that up into her fingers, twisting it into an elegant knot. "I look like I'm dressed for a fancy dinner."

"Oh, this? This isn't formal at all, Genevieve. For a social event, you would need more material, several more layers and petticoats."

"Oh, my," Ginny managed.

"Now, normally a maid or a house elf would help you with this, but for the mean time, until you understand what all of the layers are yourself, Septimus and I thought that you could use the aid of a person that understands your situation."

"Thank you," Ginny said. "Thank you so much. You've no idea what this means to me. I don't know what it's going to do to your reputation, to tell people that your husband had a child with his mistress, so thank you for that."

"That won't affect our reputation, silly girl. People do that all the time. Sometimes a family needs a backup heir. Sometimes, a man will have to marry more than one woman to accommodate another title, though that's rare. Usually an illegitimate child is good."

"Oh. I guess I need to know all of these things," Ginny said. "I always thought that my mother had taught me good manners, but the stuff that she taught has nothing on any of this."

"We'll work it out, dear girl," Persephone said, finishing her hair with a final pin and giving her a spontaneous embrace. "See, you're looking like you fit in more already. Since you were raised by a common woman, we can always use that as an excuse if you forget yourself and say something out of turn."

Persephone helped her up and gave her a pair of slippers that she slid on, and then she led her to the door.

"Etiquette starts at breakfast today," she said. "We'll teach you. Just watch."

**I know what you're thinking. Seriously, I do. **

_**Another story**_**, Taylor? What about Harry Delacour Potter and the Goblet of Fire? It's been nearly a month since you updated that. **

**It's coming. It is. I swear. I'm having some difficulty getting the words to come, but I am getting there. **

**Or maybe you're thinking, what about The Most Unlikely Alliance Ever? **

**Well you definitely don't have to worry about that one. I can churn stuff out for that like a factory, since nobody takes it seriously, so things like massive plot holes don't really matter that much. People read that because it makes them laugh. **

**But here's my latest plot bunny—a Harry/Ginny time travel story like no other that I've ever seen! As you probably gathered from the prologue, they will make it home, when they disappear. But they'll be several years older, in love and married, and more ready to face Voldemort when he comes. That will be the sequel. Got to have them fall in love first. **

**~ITookTheOneLessTravelled**


	3. Finishing School For Young Ladies

**May 19th, 1653- Weasley Manor, Wales**

"Good morning, Genevieve," Septimus greeted her as she followed behind Persephone into the dining room. He was sitting at the head of the table, with a younger male to his right.

"Yes. Good morning."

"You may call me Father," he answered her unsaid plea.

"Yes, father." Whatever it took. She called her own father 'dad', so it wasn't like she was replacing him, or anything. Besides, dad would want her to do whatever it took to fit in and, if she couldn't get home, build whatever kind of a life that she could have here.

"This is Cadmus, my son and heir. Your elder brother. I have informed him of your unique situation and the terms of your arrival, and he has agreed to be patient with you."

Cadmus looked more than patient. In fact, he looked fascinated. Ginny sat down in the seat next to Persephone, who was seated just to Septimus' left, and Cadmus immediately locked his eyes on her. She placed her wand, which had spent the night under the pillow, on the table in front of her plate, where she always put it.

"What's it like, in the future? Sister."

"Different," Ginny answered.

"Ah. Well, if you are not used to the way that people are here, then I shall have to protect my little sister from the advances of men."

"Oh, please don't," Ginny found herself saying. "I have six brothers at home who do that well enough, it's impossible to just live my life. And Harry. Harry's probably here, and he'll most likely take it upon himself to toss himself in between me and danger since Ron's not here to do it. He's got that... saving people thing. He saved me from a Basilisk, you know. And a diary that had been possessed by an evil wizard. He was twelve and I was eleven."

"Your Harry... he is a Potter?"

"Yes."

Cadmus snorted. "That does not surprise me at all. Charles is a good friend of mine, you see. He has a—saving people thing, what an apt description. It's perfect."

"Oh, it didn't come from me," Ginny said, picking up her wand to twirl it absently and send sparks flying everywhere. "Hermione's the one that said that. She's our best friend. Well, really she's Harry and Ron's best friend, I hang out with Luna and Demelza more."

"By Merlin! What is that?"

"A magical foci, from what I can tell," Septimus broke in, eyeing Ginny's wand. "It focuses her magic to a single point and allows her to use a prestructured spell for a specific purpose. Magic has changed very much in her time."

"Wow. Can you show me?"

Ginny opened her mouth to refuse, but then she realized something. "It's not being monitored here, is it? Oh, that's brilliant!" she got an expression on her face that she knew from experience would send even the twins running far away. It meant an incoming bat bogey hex, at the very least.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_." She swished and flicked in the direction of the salt shaker, sending it high into the air. "That feels amazing. _Accio, butter_." The butter zoomed across the table to her, and she set it gently down.

Her audience watched with wide eyes as she levitated, summoned, and banished things around the room. She repaired a broken corner on one of the tables.

"Genevieve! Stop that, this instant," Septimus said. Ginny gently placed a vase down with a sheepish expression.

"Sorry. I just haven't ever used magic outside of school before. We aren't allowed. The Ministry monitors our wands. Anyone underage—that's younger than seventeen—is forbidden to use magic without permission, on the pain of warnings, and potential expulsion if we have repeat offences."

"They take your magic away! That's horrible," Cadmus burst out, looking indignant on the behalf of everyone that was forced to comply with The Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery.

"Oh, yes, I know," Ginny agreed, shaking her head. "Last summer, Harry saw Voldemort—that's this really big evil wizard, so evil that everyone is afraid to say his name—return, and the ministry didn't want to accept it, so they started a whole big railroad campaign to make him look like an attention seeking, delusional child. Then they sent dementors after him and tried to get him expelled for using magic to defend himself."

"Dementors. Are those not soul-sucking demons? Why on earth would the ministry of magic have control over them?" Septimus asked.

"They guard the prison. Azkaban. They stay on the island and get to suck all of the happy feelings out of the murderers and rapists and leave us normal, law abiding folk alone. Wait—does this mean that you don't have wands?"

"No, Genevieve," Cadmus explained.

"Would you call me Ginny? I just—that's my name, after all. And if you're my brother, it seems appropriate for you to call me by my nickname."

"I suppose so," Cadmus agreed. "Magic is all about intent. Can I see that foci of yours? Would you tell me a spell?"

"Careful," Ginny warned. "I'm kind of helpless without it." She slid the wand across the table to Cadmus. "It may not work as well for you as for me—we're given wands with different cores and different kinds of wood in order to match up best with our magical cores. Thirteen and a half inches, ebony and unicorn hair, willingly given, of course. Ollivander said that I was difficult, I must have tried hundreds of wands before I finally got a reaction out of this one."

Cadmus had picked up her wand and was staring at it in fascination. "Try giving it a wave," Ginny offered, wanting to see what happened. Cadmus waved it and created sparks, but not the explosion that it produced from Ginny's hand.

"Okay, looks satisfactory. Now, pick something light. We usually use a feather at first, but I don't see one around, so we'll have to improvise. Set it on the table, and move your plate out of the way." Cadmus produced a banana, and placed it in front of himself on the white tablecloth. "The movement is all in the wrist—swish and flick. Here," she added, taking pity on him waving the wand around. "I'll show you." She took it back, and did the wand movement exaggeratedly, so that he could see. Then she returned the wand and picked up a fork, continuing with the motion.

"The incantation is _wingaaardium leviosa_. Make the 'gar' nice and long, and emphasize the o sound in _leviosa_. There you go," she added, as he made the sounds. "Now put it together, while concentrating on the banana."

Nothing happened. Honestly, Ginny hadn't expected it to—he wasn't used to the wand, and he didn't know how to focus magic through it. Cadmus looked discouraged, but Ginny told him this, and he brightened. "When we get in contact with Harry, I can give you proper lessons—we can borrow his wand. But how do you do magic?"

"Intent is magic, Ginny." She grinned at Cadmus' use of her real name—a piece of home.

"Will you show me?"

"It looks like we'll have all the time in the world."

Septimus cleared his throat. "Genevieve, Cadmus, it is wonderful that you are getting along; however, other things must be take care of."

"Oh, yes," Ginny managed weakly. "Manners."

"Yes, my dear. Starting with—sit up straight."

Ginny's mother had always lamented her posture. She didn't think that there was anything so bad about it—this corset prevented any hardcore slouching. But apparently, even the slight drooping forward of her shoulders was enough to warrant notice in this new world of etiquette and poise for young ladies.

She sat up straight, resigning herself to a new way of life.

Hours later, she was ready to stab herself with a butter knife. There was a ridiculous amount of rules, just to eating a meal. Which hand to use, which course to eat first, which knife to cut which type of meat. It was endless. She had perfected her posture early on—practically glued to the back of the chair, staring straight ahead of her with the cutlery in her hands—with the necessity, since Persephone had threatened to tie her shoulders to the back of the chair, which was apparently how children were taught to perfect their posture.

Finally, she had gotten through a meal without any major mishaps, and Persephone pronounced her taught, if not perfected—they had three months for polishing. Yay, how she was looking forward to it. Persephone hadn't understood her, so she had had to explain sarcasm, only to be told that ladies did not use sarcasm.

Now, they were onto walking. Apparently, though they didn't wear the slinky little stilettos that were all the rage with both wizarding and muggle females back home, women still wore heels here. And Ginny had never been allowed to wear heels—combined with the skirt that tangled around her ankles, she was stumbling every few steps. She had always been athletic, both with Quidditch and with sports on the ground, and never really been clumsy.

"Again," Persephone instructed tirelessly. Ginny suppressed a growl and straightened her posture, lifted her skirts in front of her—but not above the ankle, no, never above the ankle—to walk the length of the ballroom again.

This was ridiculous. But necessary—always necessary. There was nothing to do now but admit defeat. The time turner hadn't even been invented until the late nineteenth century, and this was the seventeenth. There was nothing that she could research, no magic that she could look into. It wasn't a spell that had sent her back in time, after all. Just several broken time turners—broken time turners that had been the experimentation pets of the Department of Mysteries. Who even knew what those things were capable of? Nothing normal, if you could call a time turner normal, that was for sure. She had _seen_ what they had done to Dolohov, trapping just his head in the endless cycle of birth to death, like some kind of sick, fast acting Phoenix.

No, Ginny was stuck here in the seventeenth century, hopefully with Harry, but only time would tell. She could very well be completely alone. And here, either you fit into upper society, or you starved to death.

Persephone finally pronounced her walk as passable, or at least well enough for a governess to work on, they moved on to speaking.

"Ladies do not use sarcasm. They do not talk about delicate things. They do not interrupt. When they are in the presence of a man, they speak only when spoken to. You do not make eye contact unless you are involved in a conversation. You must remain demure at all times. Your tone soft instead of strident. It must be your goal to make a man think of music, bells, when he hears your voice. A lady never shouts, screams, or shows her loss of temper. You must mask your emotions. You may feel anger, frustration or boredom. Some of the balls will be long and tedious, and you will make useless conversation about useless things. But even if everyone else feels exactly the same way that you do, you must hide it. Your demeanour must remain pleasant and demure."

"That just seems... so fake."

Persephone laughed. "It is fake. Our entire world is fake, Genevieve." The use of her ultimately _fake_ name seemed to drive this home. "I will teach you how to eat, walk, dance and speak, but listen very carefully, for nothing that I will say to you will be nearly as important as this is: our world has two uses for women, Genevieve. As pretty, young things and baby makers. If you are no longer one, but have not qualified as the other then you have lost your purpose entirely, and you are doomed to spend the rest of your life in seclusion. If it were not for your unique circumstances, Septimus would have already been searching for a betrothal for you. If you are still with us, he will start requesting offers by next season, perhaps even halfway through this season. It will depend on how well you adapt."

Ginny stared at her in horror. "Get _married_? But I'm only fourteen. Sure, I'll be fifteen in a few months, but still!"

"And most young women are introduced into society the season that they turn fourteen, so what would have been last season for you. They get one social season to remain as social butterflies—to meet and greet, and, perhaps, to do anything that they can to lure a desirable man to them, and then their fathers begin to take offers."

"Is it the same in the muggle world?" Ginny enquired.

"What is the muggle world?"

"The non-magical people? Muggles? Their government and shops and everything? You know."

"Genevieve, we live alongside the non-magicals," Persephone answered, staring at her strangely. "There are the occasional things that we need, and the non-magicals are not... _aware of_ us, per say. Well, they know that we exist, but nothing about who we are or how to identify us. When we shop, we shop in—what did you call them? Muggle? That really is quite the rude name."

"Of course," Ginny breathed. "It's 1653. The International Statute of Secrecy won't go into effect for another two centuries."

"What's this?"

"A law," Ginny answered. "A huge elaborate law—in fact, the law is pretty much what our entire government is founded on. I've never been big on history—my teacher's a ghost, he's very boring—but from what Hermione has said, when the wizarding world decided to split off and segregate from the muggle world, they decided to have no contact at all. They formed the Ministry of Magic and signed the Statute of Secrecy. We must never tell a muggle who isn't the immediate family of a muggle-born or the spouse of a witch or wizard anything about magic or its existence. We're so separated that it doesn't even really matter to anyone but the muggle-borns anymore."

"Muggle-born?"

"That means someone that is born to non-magical parents," Ginny explained. "Hermione is a muggle-born. A pureblood is someone that has no muggle in their ancestry for—I think that the old families define it as having four magical grandparents. Except the really fanatical ones, like the Blacks go back another generation to having eight magical greats. Halfblood is anything in between."

"That's barbaric!"

"Oh, I know," Ginny answered, shaking her head. "My family is pureblood, but only by chance—we don't run around marrying our own cousins to prevent diluting the bloodline. The old families call us blood traitors, for being 'a disgrace to the name of wizard', Lucius Malfoy said once. We're fighting a war over it—this man named Tom Riddle turned up about thirty years ago now, and started gaining power with the purebloods, advocating the stamping out of the ones that were unworthy to learn magic—muggle-borns, those with impure blood, and the purebloods that don't agree with their philosophy, namely blood traitors, like us and the Potters, the Longbottoms, the Prewitts, the McKinnons."

"You're at _war_ over this?"

"Actually, Hermione said that Voldemort is really more of a terrorist," Ginny said pensively. "It's not a real war as much as a guerrilla war. But one that they were possibly winning. One night, he went after Harry and his family, but for some reason the curse backfired and Voldemort destroyed himself, leaving Harry with nothing but a scar. He used an obscure necromantic ritual to come back last year, after thirteen years of peace. We were having... difficulty convincing the ministry that he was back. They're scared, see. But Cornelius Fudge is a spineless, bribable coward who employs evil sadists."

Persephone stared at her in confusion, so Ginny simply waved a hand in the air. "Never mind. It doesn't matter anymore, really—you don't have to live in my world, I have to live in yours."

"Alright, then, dear," Persephone agreed. "We exist in the non-magical world. Our magic is simply under the surface of that society."

"So it's like a... don't ask, don't tell policy?"

"Yes, that sounds about right. We know the names of the other magical families."

"What about the muggle-borns?"

"The first generation magicals are not identified until the Book of Magical Births sends them a letter in their early twenties. Then we send someone to explain that it isn't simply a distasteful joke, and they decide if they want to learn to master ambient magic or not. They aren't really at any disadvantage—we do not teach children to master magic. Only what they need to control their outbursts. We don't have those foci—wands, you call them?" At Ginny's nod, Persephone continued. "We don't have wands, or structured spells. There is magic all around us, and as a magical being, with the right intent you can master it."

"Wandless magic," Ginny commented. "It's supposed to be really difficult. Only the most powerful wizards can use it, and even then they can only do a little."

"It isn't difficult at all," Persephone said, enthused. "In fact, perhaps that is why you spend seven years in school, and we only take two or three. In constructing your structured spells, you've lost the ability to harness the ambient magic in the air. Can you feel it?"

Ginny gave her a blank look. "Feel what?"

"The magic, of course. Oh, you can't?" She sounded like a wistful child. "Your senses have been dulled. You've lost the ability to simply make your thoughts reality."

"We can do that?"

"Of course we can, you silly girl," Persephone said fondly, ruffling her hair. "Genevieve—Ginny, since you _are_ my step-daughter, after all—I am going to teach you to harness the ambient magic. We don't have time to wait for Hogwarts. If you go to Hogwarts like this, they'll think that you're a blank."

"A blank?"

"A child born to a magical family with no ability to sense the magic. They are rare, but they do occur on occasion."

"Oh, like a Squib. I wonder why we have so many different names for things?"

"It does seem strange, doesn't it? Now, sit down here—practice your posture, this is no excuse for you to let your lessons slide—and close your eyes. Concentrate on nothing but the sound of your breathing and what you _feel_. Go on," she said encouragingly.

Ginny looked dubiously at her before taking the seat and letting her eyelids slide closed, and the sound of her breathing lull her into a peaceful state.

**May 19th, 1653- Potter Manor, England**

These people were strange. He had no idea what was happening, and no idea where he was. Just that they had interpreted 'Harry' to be short for 'Hadrian', and assumed that he was their long lost younger son, who had disappeared as a child and never been found. He was apparently the right age for it. Privately, Harry thought that maybe the toddler had wandered off into the night and gotten eaten by something unfriendly, but he didn't mention this. There seemed to be no doubt as to his heritage—they had decided early on that he was definitely a Potter. Something about the wards? Harry didn't know anything about wards.

But the real question was what had happened to Ginny? They had gotten separated, and, if Harry was to believe these people, she was now wandering all alone in the year 1653. Merlin, they were in trouble.

**There's chapter two—etiquette lessons for Ginny, and a snippet of what Harry's been up to. **

**An anonymous reviewer (so I can't answer them privately) expressed a concern about religion. I hope that this explains why they appear to be Christian—because at this time in England, everyone was very religious. I won't go into any detail with the religion, but there are going to be mentions of it. And they're going to go to church on Sundays, even if I don't describe it. For those of you who get defensive when religion is raised, since I know that it can be a sensitive topic, don't worry about it being overpowering or anything. I'm just trying to add authenticity to the time period. You don't have to worry about Harry and Ginny becoming bible-thumping church enthusiasts, or anything like that. **

**Please tell me what you think.**

**~ITooktheOneLessTravelled**


End file.
